


The Levee

by D4tD (dance4thedead)



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Older Jean Kirstein, Older Marco Bott
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-08 14:33:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5500952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dance4thedead/pseuds/D4tD
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Age 26, Marco has had enough sexual tension to last a lifetime. Especially after Jean finally decides to start talking to him again after their latest expedition. </p><p>Prompt: Canon divergence, Harness FILTH</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Levee

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theisles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theisles/gifts).



> Original Prompt:  
> Canon divergence, Harness FILTH  
> Jean and Marco are older and in the survey corps but they have grown apart, mostly because they could not come to terms with the fact that they thirst for each other but then suddenly one day shit hits the fan and they pretty much cave into the sexual tension as they find "alternate" uses for their harness. YOU CAN MAKE IT AS FILTHY AS YOU WANT AS LONG AS IT IS CONSENSUAL AND THEY BOTH END UP WRECKED.

They hardly ever spoke to each other anymore. At the mess hall, he would sit at the far end of the table, eyes down, rereading the same sentence from his book of the week over and over again for the duration of his meal.

His drink would go cold. So would his food, but Jean would still be sitting two tables in front of him talking shit, that stupid smirk of his probably plastered on his face, but Marco wouldn't allow himself to be the first to leave.

He looked up at the worst moment, catching Jean turning to steal a glance at him. Cheeky bastard.

The book was shut with a bit more force than necessary, then Marco downed the rest of his drink in one swallow. If Jean was going to fuck him with his eyes every time he thought his fellow survey corps member wasn't paying attention, couldn't he have the decently to fuck him with his dick at least once?

The tension between them was destroying him.

He was twenty six now. A combination of regularly running for his life and maintaining a Spartan diet and exercise regimen had dropped the baby fat from his face. Surviving over a hundred expeditions had also killed his former optimistic outlook and replaced it with a driven confidence to spend each day he was still alive living life to the fullest. Except of course when it came to Jean … but he doubted that he'd ever have the courage to make the first move.

He'd gotten wicked good at using a straight razor, and was one of the few senior members at the garrison who were always clean shaven. But of course, his level of personal hygiene didn't even come close to Levi's. No one's did.

It was August. They had returned from the expedition much earlier than any of the members of the scouting legion had anticipated. Erwin was getting old must have finally decided to cut their losses, something Marco was thankful for. These days they were venturing out past the wall much farther than they had ever been, and while the number of fatalities were less staggering than when he and the other members of the 104th Trainees Squad had first joined the Survey Corps a decade ago, the inability to resupply or quickly retreat still made him unbearably anxious.

The sun was just beginning to set over the stable Marco was returning his horse to, making warm shadows fall into the stall he was standing in.

The voices and footsteps of the others died down until the only noises made were those by the horses in the surrounding stalls.

Marco relaxed against the wooden wall at his back. He always was the last one out; he liked the peace, the solitude. The smell of hay and grass. It was too jarring to go from fighting forty meter tall nightmare inducers to immediately preparing for a casual dinner. Anyway, if he waited long enough, the showers would be free, and he could wash the grime and blood off his body in private.

“You cut that pretty close today with the ten meter class,” came Jean's snide voice from two stalls over.

Marco pulse quickened and he looked around frantically. No one else ever lingered in the stable, at least not to his knowledge. And Jean … Jean hadn't spoken to him since his birthday, and that had been a two word exchange.

“I survived, so I guess I'm not losing my edge as much as you think I am,” he retorted, faking a chuckle. His fingernails dug into his palms as he willed his hormones to settle.

“Yeah, try not to die next time also.”

“You too.” He bit his lip, willing Jean to go.

A minute passed before Marco finally heard Jean start to leave. The muffled footsteps on the dirt floor grew closer as Jean started to walk past him, then abruptly stopped.

The door of the stall Marco was in opened to reveal Jean, also still in his harness with all of his three dimensional maneuvering gear attached. He was soaked in his own sweat, dirty blond hair mussed and sticking to his damp forehead, mud and dried blood stains splashed on to his trousers and the front and back of his jacket.

Marco shut his mouth, realizing that it had been hanging open. He turned, hands grabbing onto the metal bars of the stall to stop himself from melting completely. Did Jean really have to smell like such a man? It was intoxicating and entirely unfair.

“Jean … please … leave.” He was breathless and hating how weak and needy he sounded. He was a grown man, god damn it, and he was acting like some virginal teenage girl.

He couldn't turn around even if he'd wanted to. His hard dick pressing up in his trousers, straining at the flies and the groin of his harness. He could practically feel Jean's gaze on him, looking over the backside he was unintentionally presenting to him, hear the swallow in Jean's throat that indicated his Adam's apple was bobbing up and back down.

“I'll leave, if that's what you want me to do, Marco.” Jean's words were husky, he did spend most of the day yelling out commands to the newer scouts, but there was something about the way the extra gravel textured his speech…

Jean spoke again. “You avoid me too much. I've been meaning to tell you,” Marco tried to suppress a moan as he felt Jean move closer behind him, felt his body heat through the fabric of his clothing and on his exposed skin.

A finger touched the strap fastened around his thigh, Marco inhaling sharply at the touch. God, he could die right now.

“...that this leather looks real good on you.”  
  
“Grab it, Jean,” Marco whispered, surprising himself. His hands were starting to sweat down the cool bars he was holding.

“You want me to do what?”

Marco ground his teeth together, agitated as fuck. “Grab my ass, Jean.” He bent over further, enticingly. “You know you want to.”

The fingers touching the back of his leg retreated as Jean let out a shaky breath. “No, I can't do that.”

“Why not?” Marco glanced over his shoulder, genuinely concerned that he had been too forward.

“Because if I touch your ass … I'm gonna want to put my cock inside.”

Marco shuddered at the confession. “Please. Do it.” He was needy and desperate, but there was no point in trying to hide that anymore if he actually wanted to get what he desired.

Jean said something low in his ear, an undiscernible mumble, but Marco could have sworn he whispered _'Fuck, I want to.'_ but he couldn't be sure. 

Jean nibbled on the back and side of his neck, nose pressing into Marco's salty skin as he said in a clearer tone, “Not here. Your horse … there's not enough space … what if someone finds us…”

His breath hitched again, the gentle caresses from Jean's lips making him feel some type of way. “Then they find us. We've been playing at this for years.”

“Come back with me to my room. Let me have you on my bed.”

“No, Jean." Marco was quietly furious. If he had to wait one more moment, he was going to explode. "Here. Now.”

“But—”

Marco turned and flung himself at the other man, their solid bodies connecting at the waist, the lips, their mouths pulling each other into a deep, sloppy kiss as their tongues fought for dominance. Their gear collided, but neither of them cared. Jean moaned into his mouth as Marco frotted their clothed erections together.

Marco's hands found the front of Jean's jacket and pushed it off his shoulders, revealing the thin white shirt under that clung to his biceps.

Marco pulled away from their kiss, panting breathlessly into his ear, taking in Jean's scent.

The smell of war that clung to them didn't make him think of death. Sweat to him reminded him of people in his home town working outside in the summer and fall. Smoke brought him back to the fireplaces blazing in the winter. Blood was blood, but it wasn't theirs, and in that moment that was the only thing that mattered.

“Marco … Marco.” The way Jean was saying his name was driving him insane. The jacket was pushed down to Jean's forearms, cuffing the man's hands behind his back.

“Marco, what are you … aghh.”

Marco was down on his knees, a hand on Jean's waist to steady himself as his lips covered the bulge in Jean's trousers, sucking gently at the dirt and precome soiled khaki.

Jean was salty sweet and perfect. Booze and nicotine had nothing on how addicting he was.

“Marco … fuck. Get off your fucking knees. This is a stable … you'll get … ahggh … shit all over your clothes.” He managed to shake the jacket binding his arms completely off and grabbed Marco by the shirtfront and into another heated kiss.

Marco didn't let the moment last long, pissed that Jean had torn him off his cock. His hands latched onto Jean's harness, working open just the belt part. His fingers reached into Jean underwear and dug out the warm, hard length.

Jean let out a hissed sigh as he was exposed, head rolling back and hands clinging onto him for support as Marco began to use his thumb to play with the tip.

“Ahah … shit … don't stop. It's not … it's not fair.”

“What isn't?” Marco asked innocently, briefly tightening his grip around the girth in his fingers.

Jean groaned. “You teasing me.” He looked down, moaning softly as he watched Marco's fingers paint swirls on the head of his cock in the precome. The skin on their hands were calloused, but Marco knew how to be gentle.

“Well, deal with it. Serves you right for making me jones after you for years.”

“Me? You were the one playing hard to get!”

“No, I wasn't.”

Jean suddenly grabbed onto Marco's wrist, pulling him away again, before looking up into Marco's eyes, dead serious.

“If you tell me I could've had you years ago, I'm gonna fucking lose it.”

Marco didn't respond, but his expression must have given his answer away.

They crashed against the wooden half-wall, Jean's tongue slipping against Marco's teeth, two strong arms trapping Marco to the wall with Jean's bare dick still bobbling between them.

Marco let him take control, let himself be turned around and let Jean try to pull the trousers off of him. He heard Jean let out a frustrated huff, before slicing clean through the belt loops with a blade and pushing the clothing just low enough to display his backside.

Thumbs hooked on to the leather straps crossing Marco's butt cheeks, letting them snap back against skin, leaving faint red marks.

Marco moaned, the pleasant stinging doing things to his mind (and his cock), and couldn't help but grind back into the large palm that hand moved to grope the fat of his rear.

Jean must have touched himself, because the pad of a slick fingertip was placed against Marco's entrance, rubbing against the ribbed muscle ring and making Marco hold onto the metal bars on the wall to avoid collapsing from how fucking good it felt to have Jean finally touching him there.

Their bodies were filthy from fighting and from being on the road and under the summer sun all day, and they had on way more clothing than either of them preferred, but god help if anything got in the way of them indulging in each other.

“Oh … oh Jean … oh … oh!” A finger was thrust into him, not quite dry, but rough and skilled and putting wonderfully pleasurable pressure on his inner walls.

A second finger joined, breaching him, defiling him. His own dick was bursting to be free of the trousers and underwear that was still restraining him, and he couldn't help but shamelessly rut against the wood he was pressed against. His brain registered the horse in the adjacent stall watching the two of them going at it, but he was too lost in the moment to pay it any mind.

Jean grunted as frustration as the blade scabbards and canisters of compressed air at their sides clanked together when he tried to push his pelvis forward.

“Jean … let me face you. Please, I need—”

Before Marco could even finished his request, he was spun around, Jean capturing his lips and working his tongue in Marco's mouth like he did it for a living.

Marco's hands flew on instinct to the hand grips of the gear's operating device holstered on his own chest, shooting a pair of iron wires into the wooden joists of the stable's ceiling, effectively suspending himself before wrapping his legs around Jean's waist.

Their kiss broke out of necessity as Marco sank down on to Jean's dick.

“Shit … shit, you're … big,” Marco whispered brokenly to the rugged face in front of him. Jean couldn't respond, lips parted to emit open mouth pants, while his fingers squeezed harder on Marco's ass and the leather straps over it.

Marco loved it. He rode him, using the gear to move himself up and down the length of Jean's shaft. Jean met him thrust for thrust, bucking his hips up into the taller man.

Sixteen year old Marco would have never done this. Sixteen year old Marco would never even imagine that he'd let himself be taken in the semi-public stall of some stable with his horse right beside him and with his own dick still stuck inside his trousers. But this was Jean that he was with, and he had waited way too long to feel this way.

“Aghg … fuck, Marco. You feel so good.”

Marco could only nod in agreement. The angle that Jean was sliding into him was making some kind of rush hit him, waves of ecstasy washing through is veins, and making him lose his words. He dug the heels of his boots into the back of Jean's thighs, begging without words for Jean to touch him, to help him fall over into oblivion.

Jean obliged, one hand moving off of Marco's rear to work open his belt, pulling out the hard, dripping length and pumping it in time with their movements.

Marco's moans grew louder, the added stimulus was too much and he came hard, coating Jean's hand as his body spasmed and tightened around Jean's girth.

He heard Jean call out his name as he filled Marco with his release, thrusting up messily until nearly collapsing, exhausted.

The two lines retracted back into his gear and Marco disengaged from Jean, both of them panting heavily. Their aspirated breathes mingled with the low murmur of the animals.

There was hay and dirt beneath his feet and come and grime covering their bodies, but the way he felt inside and the way Jean was looking at him, Marco knew he must be glowing.

Jean pulled him down, dusting chaste kisses over the freckles on his cheeks.

Marco laughed, tickled by him in more than one way. “I never thought you'd like kissing so much.”

Jean ran his fingers through Marco's hair, speaking softly into his ear. “I'm making up for lost time.”

The sun was almost fully set and both of them knew they had places they had to be, but neither of them wanted to go.

Marco let their lips touch one more time, before closing his eyes. It wasn't until he heard Jean leave that he opened them again.

**Author's Note:**

> First SNK fic!!
> 
> Tell me if I've done fucked up anywhere, and I'll fix it. (Yes, Marco is a horny bitch in this; no, I'm not fixing that.) But beta and grammar-nazi away in the comments, and you'll have my eternal thanks :) 
> 
> Also, thank you [theisles](http://archiveofourown.org/users/theisles/pseuds/theisles) for the awesome prompt. I'm hoping I did it justice.
> 
> Thanks for reading and happy holidays!


End file.
